


the brilliancy of her smile

by ephemeralblossom



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF, Women's Gymnastics RPF
Genre: F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralblossom/pseuds/ephemeralblossom
Summary: So here’s what happens: Simone wins three gold medals and a bronze in Rio, and shit goes wild.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanderedpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderedpen/gifts).



> Both of the women in this story are named Simone. Hopefully I've made it clear which one I'm talking about at any given time. :)
> 
> Please backbutton now if you found this by googling your own name.
> 
> This is a work of fiction.

So here’s what happens: Simone wins three gold medals and a bronze in Rio, and shit goes wild.

What’s funny is that she doesn’t even mostly notice during the Olympics. She knows she’s being talked about back home, because her phone keeps being lit up with texts like _so you’re basically miss america now just fyi_ and _if you and katie ledecky ever got married it’d be bigger than kim and kanye_ , which, please. Katie is awesome, but not her type.

The thing is that when Simone’s in a competition, she only has room for her routines. She has everything organized perfectly; she stays in her headspace and focuses on what she has to do. Sleeping properly, eating properly, practicing properly, warming up properly – and winning properly. She’s aware of the cameras, the media, the fans, but it’s always peripheral to the task at hand. 

It’s only afterwards, when the Final Five starts making the never-ending media rounds, that Simone realizes the full extent of Biles-mania. Before Rio, she was only a legend in gymnastics circles. Now she’s a _household name_ , and it’s pretty overwhelming.

Along with the media comes the Tour, and then more media, and for months Simone is swept along in a flurry of camera flashes and microphones in her face and smile smile smile, because if you ever stop smiling for a moment they’ll be sure to catch you, and Gabby can testify to what crap that can be. 

By the time the flood slows to a trickle and Simone’s able to take a deep breath, it’s February.

She feels like she’s been training her entire life for Rio, and now it’s over. What comes next? She’s not sure; she does know that she doesn’t want to decide overnight.

What do you do when you’ve achieved your life goals at age nineteen?

***

Simone flies to San Francisco for her friend Ashley’s wedding, and spends her Saturday wondering why anyone would have a wedding on a beach in _February_. California beaches are supposed to be warm and sandy and fun, not bleak and foggy with a chill wind that snakes up your spine.

She wakes up the next morning and stares at her hotel ceiling, knowing that today is the day. She can’t put it off any longer.

After she takes a shower to wake herself up, she sits cross-legged on her bed and writes the text, before she can get cold feet. 

She presses ‘send’.

***

Getting to Stanford proves to be more complicated than Simone had expected, but after a small adventure going the wrong way on Muni she makes it to a Caltrain station, and after that it’s easy. She hops out at the Palo Alto station and looks around. The person she’s looking for is hard to miss – 

“You made it!”

Simone Manuel is a long-limbed 5’11”, fifteen inches taller than Simone. She’s leaning against the back of the bus shelter, looking casual and nonchalant in a ubiquitous red Stanford hoodie and comfortable jeans. _A tall drink of water_ , as Danell would say with a cheesy wink. Even though Simone is content with her size, she covets those beautiful long legs with a vengeance. 

“I did,” she says, smiling. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

Simone’s answering smile lights up her face. “No problem. We finished morning swim an hour ago, so I’m free as a bird. What brings you to the Bay?”

Simone tells her about the wedding and the cold beach as they get on the Marguerite shuttle to campus, pushing to the back past bleary-eyed students and bouncy tourists with enormous cameras around their necks. She tries to avoid eye contact – being recognized wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it’s nice to be anonymous for a change – and nobody jumps up asking for a selfie, so for the moment she’s succeeded.

She doesn’t let herself think about the fact that she’s subconsciously distracting herself from the butterflies in her stomach. She’s here, isn’t she?

When they reach campus, Simone takes her to a little open-air café outside the main library, and buys her a sandwich when she wrinkles her nose at the idea of coffee. They sit tucked away at one of the side tables, watching students whiz by on bicycles. Privately Simone thinks that the bicyclists are lucky they’re not all dead or maimed, given the speed and recklessness with which they zip around blind corners. 

Simone tells her stories about the swim team. Apparently Katie Ledecky is hilarious, and there’s something about a missing swim cap that Simone doesn’t quite understand. She watches the way Simone’s face goes soft and affectionately amused when she talks about Katie, and feels her stomach contract. 

Simone notices, and stops her story in mid-sentence. “Are you okay? It’s a bit chilly, isn’t it? Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. We can go back to mine if you like? It’s nothing special but it’s out of the wind.”

The sandwich is only half-eaten, but Simone’s appetite is abruptly gone. “Sure.”

***

Even though it’s a bit nippy, the Stanford sky is huge and blue and sunny. Simone likes it; as they walk past the bookstore and the post office, past ornate fountains and bicycle rack after bicycle rack, she imagines a world in which this was hers. What would it be like to be in college right now, fitting a NCAA gymnastics career around classes and extracurriculars and homework and a few (very few) parties? What would it be like to careen around campus on a bicycle, to sunbathe on the green lawns, to fill her brain with facts and dates and knowledge?

Madison’s chosen that route, retiring from elite gymnastics to go NCAA. Simone thinks blonde pretty Madison, whippet-smart and quick to laugh, will do well at UCLA. They’re both nineteen, both Texas girls, and yet their paths have been so different; Madison is the forgotten member of the Final Five, the specialist, for all that her team gold is the same as Simone’s. And Simone – Simone is the superstar, the pro, who can never join a NCAA team, never have that alternative life.

Still she wonders. What would it be like, she thinks, darting an upwards glance at Simone, to live the college dream? To be young and anonymous? To have the time to date? To ask out a girl she liked, to take her to coffee shops, to buy her flowers, to kiss her in the rain?

The first time Simone kissed a girl, she had been high on victory, full of joy and Olympic gold and the fizzy feeling of _relief_ ; she may project total confidence and assurance, after all these years of honing her competition face, but knowing that it was _over_ , that she had done herself and her country proud, had left her feeling almost dizzy with the ebb of tension. They never tell you about that part of winning – about how so much of it is a blissful feeling of release, of all the anxiety flowing out of you at once.

The first time Simone kissed a girl, the girl had laughed and kissed her back, gentle hands cradling Simone’s face.

And then they had broken apart, shyly, awkwardly, and it had been _Rio_ , and Simone hadn’t been sure it meant anything; and when they came back to the States, she’d been caught up in the post-Rio media blitz, and the Tour, and all the competing demands on her. She’d thought about texting a million times, and chickened out every time.

Now she’s here, and all she can think about in the winter sun is the feeling of that kiss, and the brilliancy of Simone’s smile.

She quickens her step to keep up with the confident stride of Simone’s long legs.

***

Simone’s room is small, but it has a lot of character. There’s a Cookie and Lucious poster above the desk, and a framed picture of Simone and President Obama propped up against a massive stack of textbooks. One shelf has an eclectic collection of coffee mugs, and the calendar on the wall (with heaps of underlined and crossed-out scribbles on it) is showcasing a decadent cake.

One of Simone’s medal paperweights is sitting on top of the dresser, and Simone smiles, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. 

“The medals are all in a safe-deposit box,” Simone says, dropping her keys in a flower-shaped dish and sitting down on the bed. “But my mom let me keep one of the souvenirs here. She says it’s on my head if it gets stolen.”

“Do you have a lot of theft here?” Simone asks, for something to say. She sits in the desk chair; she’s not sure what to do with her hands, so she folds them awkwardly in her lap.

Simone shrugs. “Not really. Sometimes people’s Adderall goes missing. And occasionally laptops walk off. But mostly that’s people being stupid and leaving their laptops unattended. I’m careful.”

The silence that falls on them feels heavy. 

There hasn’t been a lot of silence in Simone’s life recently. Everything’s been so full of energy, glitz, and laughter. If there’s been a quiet moment, there’s always been someone who rushes to fill it with a joke, a wisecrack, a question. And she’s never lacked for words herself – she’s teased Danell and joked with Laurie, played prank wars with Donnell and answered every question every interviewer has thrown at her.

Now, though, she can’t think of anything to say.

Perhaps she should take the easy way out; divert the conversation to Empire and How to Get Away With Murder, ask more about the swim program here at Stanford, reminisce about Rio. She thinks she and Simone could be good friends.

But Simone has many friends already, and that isn’t what she really wants from Simone. She doesn’t know how to say it, but she knows what she wants, what she _has_ wanted since they were alone together that night, the American golden girls. 

“So,” Simone says, the amused lilt in her voice making Simone’s heart leap. “Are we going to make small talk, or are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Oh thank god,” Simone blurts, and she’s nervous-laughing, which she knows isn’t attractive, she probably looks like a fish.

But Simone is smiling at her, that smile which does things to the pit of Simone’s stomach. “When I got your text this morning, I hoped…”

“Yeah,” Simone says, eloquent. “I hoped too.”

They smile at each other. The silence this time seems shy, not heavy. 

Simone gets up from the bed, towering high. The room is small enough that she only needs a few steps to stand in front of the desk chair; and then she’s sinking down to her knees, in one fluid movement, and they’re on the same level. 

“Hi,” she says.

There are still butterflies in Simone’s stomach, but this, this is the girl she kissed in Rio. The nerves may still be there, but the questions are gone. “Hi,” she says, and grins, wide and delighted.

Simone leans in and kisses her. Her mouth tastes like coffee; her shoulders are strong under Simone’s hands.

***

Simone’s bed isn’t really big enough for two people, especially when one of them is an Amazonian, all legs and shoulders and curves. But they make it work; Simone is small, and she fits into Simone’s arms perfectly.

She wonders if she should confess that she doesn’t really know what she’s doing. She knows that other gymnasts find time to date, despite the demands of training; it’s not so much time that’s been lacking for her, though that’s been a big part of it, but both the desire and the mental headspace. Everything was about Rio, about getting to Rio, about making her dreams come true when it mattered. Dating seemed like an unnecessary complication.

(In bed with Simone, with Simone’s lips on her neck and one of Simone’s long legs pressed between her own, she thinks that it might be a complication, but it’s an amazing one.)

She decides, as she climbs on top of Simone and leans down to kiss under her ear – as Simone’s hands tighten on her waist, pulling her closer – as Simone gasps, the sound going straight to her head – that she’s just going to go with the flow. She’s a fast learner, after all.

She laughs, her joy bubbling over.

***

Afterwards, Simone dozes under Simone’s Olympic bedspread, feeling loose-limbed and glorious. The breakneck speed of the past months has finally slowed to a crawl, here in Simone’s arms, and all Simone wants to do is hold on to this peaceful elation for as long as possible.

Real life will reassert itself soon enough. Simone has a flight back to Texas tomorrow. She still has to decide what she’s doing with her life, now that Rio is over and the world is her oyster. Meanwhile Simone has classes, and training, and morning swims, and homework. For now, they live in two different worlds, for all that they found a bridge today.

For now. 

California is a nice place, even if its beaches are cold in February. Simone likes the sunshine and the green grass and the huge blue sky. She doesn’t know what the future holds, but she could imagine herself living here.

In the meantime, there’s Skype, and texts, and Simone’s visits home. They’re both Houston girls. After Simone graduates, perhaps she’ll move back to Texas. Or perhaps they’ll move somewhere together.

Simone doesn’t want to get ahead of herself. They’ve only just begun! It’s too soon to start planning anything long-term. She knows what it’s like to be so focused on a long-term goal, to the point where you sometimes forget to make time for the present. For now, she wants to learn what it’s like to take it day by day, to live in the moment. 

What comes next? Simone isn’t sure. But she knows more than she did yesterday, and that’s enough for now.

She snuggles closer to Simone, pressing a sleepy kiss to her collarbone, and lets herself drift away into dreams.

***

**Author's Note:**

> The Simones in Rio, via Simone B's Twitter:  
>   
> ([x](https://twitter.com/Simone_Biles/status/764153195048398849))


End file.
